


I Will Not Tire of You

by RedLipped



Series: His Love Makes Your Head Spin (Poet!AU) [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M, Poet!AU, Poet!Gavin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 20:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4033924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLipped/pseuds/RedLipped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The necessity is in simplicity,<br/>the boy is his safety,<br/>until the poet can feel whole again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Not Tire of You

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to all of the kind responses on The Lonely Poet, i've decided to expand on this AU and make it into a series! i've been so overwhelmed (in a good way) with messages and headcanon discussions from a lot of you on my blog that i realized there was absolutely more i could develop. it will be a series of one-shots like these, not following a particular linear storyline.
> 
> this part here is heavily inspired by ["10 AM, Gare Du Nord" by Keaton Henson.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M8f9sMxzdFM) i recommend listening to it during this fic and then listening to it again... and then probably listening to it again. and again. _you get my point. it's beautiful._
> 
> enjoy!

"Michael! _Michael!_ "

Gavin pulled open the front door to Michael's apartment and dashed into the living room. As a result of his yelling, Michael jumped up from his seat on the soft leather couch and stared wildly at Gavin. He blinked repetitively with an adorably alarmed expression on his face, which prompted Gavin to take a few steps forward to close the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around Michael's neck and leaned on his wide shoulders.

"You won't believe it, Michael!"

Fortunately for the both of them, Michael was a smart boy. He caught on quickly and his alarmed face shifted into an excited expression instead.

"What won't I believe?" He grinned teasingly.

Gavin was practically bursting at the seams, and as Michael placed his hands on his back to keep the younger boy from pulling away, he could feel him vibrating through the fabric of his cheap dress shirt.

"I got the deal!"

While Gavin still seemed entirely surprised by this fact, Michael merely smirked at him confidently. He knew Gavin would get the deal with a publisher. Despite how nervous the poet had been prior to his meeting, Michael knew that nobody in their right mind would turn Gavin down. The boy was a gift and Michael didn't hold back from telling him.

"See? What did I tell you?" He rubbed his hands gently up and down Gavin's back, calming his excited shaking. "Nobody would ever turn you away, Gav."

Gavin blushed, giggling as a modest pink colour filled his cheeks. Michael's compliments would never grow old, no matter how long they had been together. In reality, their few months of dating felt like a lifetime, but it was only a short timespan between the moment that they first met in a lonely coffee shop and the moment in which they were currently embraced. While there were an infinite amount of reasons why Gavin loved Michael more than the moon loved the stars, he would never tire of Michael's easy confidence and the ability for him to make the poet's insecurities melt away. Gavin was practically clay in Michael's hands, ready and waiting to be moulded and fixed up nicely and carefully.

As if he could read minds, Michael pulled Gavin in for a hug, clutching onto the boy's smaller frame with strong hands. Inside, Gavin melted.

"I'm so proud of you, Gav," Michael spoke right beside his ear.

As simple as that, Gavin could almost feel his shell of insecurity peeling away to reveal a layer of confidence under his skin. Only Michael could get him to open up enough to feel this way.

They separated after a comfortable moment and sat down on the cozy couch together. Michael pulled Gavin's long legs into his lap and Gavin leaned his head against Michael's shoulder, talking animatedly and waving his hands wildly. In his head, Michael made a joke about Gavin's Italian genes, but he refrained from saying the words out loud.

In their comfortable arrangement, Gavin explained all of the details of the deal he had gotten. It was with a mildly unpopular and very local publishing company, but everyone needed to start somewhere. They enjoyed his work and agreed to develop a short book — only 20-35 pages in length, much to his dismay — filled with poems that Gavin felt showcased his abilities the greatest. Some of these pieces could be pre-written from years prior or some could be ones he creates over the course of a few upcoming weeks. The choice was up to Gavin himself, but he was undeniably ecstatic. The company had promised him that publication for such a short book would be a quick process, which was great news, but it left Gavin with much less time than he would have hoped.

Michael saw the influx of stress coming from a mile away. That night, at 3 AM, wrapped in each other's arms with yesterday's clothes in heaps on the floor, Gavin jumped up in a panic and rushed to his desk to jot down a few lines.

The following morning, breakfast came paired with an incessantly tapping pen along the side of their small kitchen table. Coffee became a constant necessity and tea just wasn't cutting it anymore. Breakfast for Gavin was a barely toasted bagel and a sad attempt at melted butter for a spread. Michael noticed that every minute Gavin spent without a pen or pencil in hand, the more jittery and nervous he became. Gavin's small, thin hands shook as he tried to hold them steady, causing Michael to reach across the table and grab his wrists.

“You need to promise me something,” he spoke softly.

Gavin's green eyes flickered up from his journal, watching Michael intently.

“You know I support you, but promise me you won't burn yourself out in the process.”

A soft, nervous chuckle came from deep in Gavin's rib cage.

“Michael, I'll be fine. I promise.”

Michael sighed, eyes trailing down to the notebook on the table in front of them. He had seen Gavin in stressful situations in the past, but never stressed and combined with an approaching deadline. He didn't know whether to believe the boy's attempt at laughing off his concern, but he tried his hardest to listen. He nodded and sat back in his chair, releasing Gavin's wrists and allowing the poet to go back to scribbling words along the smooth paper. Michael went back to his own breakfast, consisting of a bowl of cereal and a peeled orange. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't suppress the concern that bubbled in his chest.

For the remainder of their lazy Sunday, Michael sat on the couch in their living room, tapping away at buttons on his Xbox controller. Out of respect for Gavin, who was curled up beside him, the volume on the TV was significantly lower than usual. While Michael replayed old missions in Grand Theft Auto, Gavin folded his long legs in toward his chest on the inside of the couch. He balanced his favourite journal against his knees, using them as a convenient table as he repetitively wrote down some words and scratched out others.

Gavin would watch Michael, illuminated during the day by the sun streaming in through the open window, and illuminated during the night by the yellow-hued lamp on the end table. As the sun crawled its way down the sky, he was entranced by the way the change in light reflected in Michael's hair and sharpened his jawline. In the evening, the glow of the lamp made him look younger and made his face look more rounded. He looked angelic with the light peeking through the curls in his hair. Gavin wrote about the cherub sitting beside him.

_The angel stands_  
_in an evening glow_  
 _with the heart of a dog,_  
 _the focus of a warrior,_  
 _the mouth of a sailor._  
 _An oxymoron,_  
 _if there ever was one._

Gavin chuckled quietly to himself. Michael turned his head and caught his eye, raising an eyebrow. Gavin blushed in response and gently shook his head. Michael didn't ask any questions, which ultimately was another reason why Gavin felt so comfortable in his presence. While Michael knew that Gavin often wrote about him, pulling inspiration from their relationship and his life, he never asked to see Gavin's work. He waited patiently until Gavin was ready to show him, which eventually paid off on the multiple occasions that he was able to read the work of the poet. Reading about himself through the eyes of his lover was always a surreal experience.

They ended the evening the same way they had spent the early morning, worshipping each other's skin in the pitch black of their bedroom.

  


Two days later, Michael was starting to grow annoyed.

Perhaps annoyed was the wrong word, and he internally growled at himself for being so insensitive. The last thing he wanted to be was unsupportive. He refused to be _annoyed_ by the main source of joy in his life, but everyone had lines just waiting to be crossed. Sure enough, Gavin was gingerly toeing that line.

They had decided to go out on a nice dinner date to celebrate Gavin's new deal. It was all Michael's treat, he insisted. Gavin had been working hard and remaining incredibly focused ever since he left the publishing office, so Michael felt it was necessary to give him a relaxing break. At least, that had been his intention.

The beginning of their dinner went well. They ordered expensive wine and overpriced entr _é_ es, feeling entirely out of place in the restaurant filled with successful businessmen and rich people. It didn't bother them and they giggled between bites, breaking the stiff air of professionalism in the room. The sound of smooth jazz came from a vintage, expensive-looking record player in the corner.

Everything was going great, up until Gavin pulled a small, pocket-sized notebook and tiny pencil from the pocket of his dress shirt. Michael's face fell.

“What's that for?”

Gavin's eyes flashed toward Michael in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“The notebook.”

Gavin beamed. “I have an idea and I don't want to lose it, that's all.”

Michael accepted that comment without a response. He picked up his fork and continued to take small bites of his meal, counting the minutes with the help of the large clock on the wall of the restaurant. He sighed repetitively, half hoping to pull Gavin out of his focus, but the poet was so engrossed in his work that he never noticed. Michael's entire body language shifted and instead of leaning as close to Gavin as he possibly could, he began to lean further away. Once again, Gavin didn't pay attention.

Enough time passed that Michael stopped counting the minutes. He was no longer hungry as he watched Gavin tap his pencil against the table, waiting for the right word to come to his mind. In that tiny notebook, Gavin filled eighteen pages and subsequently tore out and crumpled eleven of them.

When he finally returned to eating his meal, he sighed and mumbled shyly about his dish being cold. Michael suppressed a scoff. He was understandably irritated, given that the entire point of going out to dinner was to give Gavin's wildly creative brain a small break. Having his nose stuffed into paper and pens for the last few days had to be mentally exhausting, and the only breaks he allowed for himself were just to make a quick meal, use the bathroom, or take a shower. While Gavin typically visited coffee shops or strolled through quiet streets in order to gather some outside inspiration, he had holed himself up in their apartment in his pajamas for three days. Michael was eager to take him out in public, and dining among the rich was supposed to be an amusing experience for the both of them.

Nonetheless, they finished their meal and returned back to their apartment with a one-sided feeling of awkwardness. Gavin was oblivious and so concentrated that he didn't see any issue, while Michael felt bitter and partially rejected. In the bathroom, Michael gripped the edge of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. He rationalized his feelings to his own reflection, arguing that poetry was important to Gavin, and he would be the world's worst boyfriend if he dared to take that away from him. He vowed to be supportive, and support was all he could really provide, aside from midnight kisses.

He left the bathroom and returned to the living room, his mouth forming a tight line as he saw Gavin curled up on the inside of the couch as usual, transferring ideas from his tiny notebook into his larger journal. He was scribbling rapidly, and the word “obsessed” came to Michael's mind, but he shoved it aside.

  


About a week later, Michael realized there was a slowly developing problem. Like a bubble, Gavin's stress levels were expanding more and more every day. Logically, Michael knew that the bubble could only stretch so much and would eventually have to burst. He cringed at the analogy.

The two were grocery shopping and Gavin was bouncing on his heels, seemingly filled with anxiety and nervousness. He was itching to get home, and he had made sure to state this fact loud and clear multiple times. Michael took his time going through their grocery list on purpose.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gavin rolling his eyes toward the ceiling a couple of times. He noticed his longing stare at the tea selection as they passed by. Most importantly, he spotted the pencil shoved behind the poet's ear. Michael was just waiting for the small pocket-sized notebook to make its appearance again.

While Michael was pretending to take extra time choosing his cereal, he felt Gavin tugging gently on his hand that was holding their grocery list. Michael looked to his right and watched a sheepish smile grow on Gavin's face. Without speaking, Gavin pulled Michael's hand into his own, prying his fingers apart and pulling the grocery list from his grasp. In the bottom corner of the piece of paper, Gavin began to write. Michael felt his blood pressure rising. Regardless, he stepped forward and picked out his cereal, placing it in the cart and carrying on, leaving the younger boy to follow slowly at his heels.

As Michael proceeded down the aisle, he stopped suddenly. Just as he had predicted, Gavin slammed into his back.

“I'm sorry Michael!” His accented voice was high-pitched and stressed. He was starting to sound like a guitar string that was pulled just too tightly. Any anger that was in Michael's head evaporated with a _whoosh_ and he turned around to pinch one of Gavin's cheeks. The poet blushed at the affectionate action. With a nervous glance down at the grocery list, he extended his hand and gave it back to Michael.

Michael took it without a word, but the silence combined with Gavin's bashful expression made him feel like he had won.

On the car ride home, Gavin expressed how anxious he really was for the first time to Michael.

“I know it sounds foolish, and I know you've told me a million times that I'm talented,” he spoke, his voice shaking slightly, “but I just don't feel like I'm good enough.”

To Gavin, it felt as though someone had drained all of the water out of him. To Michael, it felt as though someone had collected that water and dumped it over his head. While Gavin relaxed significantly, Michael was filled with guilt. He always provided a sense of security for Gavin, so if the younger boy was feeling insecure, he felt it was his job to put him back together again.

“You're always good enough, Gav. Whether you believe it or not, you are.”

Gavin chewed on his bottom lip. Michael spared a glance to him in the passenger seat, taking note of the worry lines etched into his forehead.

It was in that moment, in a car full of groceries and driving home as the rain began to fall, that Michael realized a very important fact about Gavin. The poet was like a coffee mug: beautiful, warm, and inviting. At some undefined point in time, someone had dropped the coffee mug and the ceramic had shattered into uncountable pieces. Gavin was able to put himself back together, piece by piece, until he was able to support himself again. By the time Michael came around, found him on a weekday evening in a coffee shop, and scooped him into his arms and into his heart, Gavin was repaired well enough to be able to trust again. However, just like the shattered mug, the cracks would always show no matter how much glue was used to put it back together again.

Gavin had crawled his way into Michael's heart and vice versa. He wrote beautiful pieces about love and beauty, all with Michael as his main focus. The nights they spent together, worshipping each other's skin as Gavin counted the freckles on Michael's thighs in the dim moonlight, meant the absolute world to him. He had never been touched so carefully before in his life and his heart soared every time Michael merely pressed a fingertip against his skin. The contrast between them both was one of his favourite aspects of their relationship and not once did he take it for granted. From physical details like Michael's pale and freckled skin in comparison to Gavin's natural tan, to emotional details like Michael's easy confidence and Gavin's enveloping shyness, Gavin was in love with their love. He was so in love that he wrote poems about it.

To bring them both back to reality as they neared their apartment, Michael reached across the console and rested his right hand on Gavin's knee. Gavin's fingers gently lay on top of his hand as an instant reflex.

“When we get home, we're doing something fun,” Michael announced.

“Fun? Like, video games and pizza?” Gavin looked puzzled.

“Nope.”

“What are we doing?”

“You'll see.”

“ _Michael_ , please!”

Michael chuckled. “I'm busting out the bubble bath.”

Just as Michael had hoped, Gavin burst into musical laughter. He leaned his head back against his seat and watched Michael's face with a steady grin, all the way until they returned home.

  


True to his word, as soon as they got home, Michael began rushing around their apartment to collect all of the bubble bath and candles that he could find. When Gavin tried to assist him, Michael directed him to sit on the lid of the toilet.

“You're a king tonight and this is your throne,” he instructed. Gavin giggled and followed his directions. He watched from his perch on the toilet as Michael filled up the bathtub, swishing the water around to form impressive bubbles. Michael lit three candles, all smelling of vanilla and lavender, and laid a towel on the floor at the edge of the tub.

He swayed his hips sexily at first, prompting Gavin to laugh again and cover his mouth with his hand. Michael broke the foolish act and pulled his own t-shirt over his head before reaching down to peel Gavin's off of him as well. Instinctively, Gavin folded his arms over his chest, shielding his body and excessive amount of chest hair from view. Michael didn't comment on the insecure habit, but instead he scooped Gavin up into his arms until the boy was standing once again.

In the least sexy way possible, they both pulled off their jeans, socks, and boxers until they were standing naked in the bathroom. Michael took the first step and climbed into the tub, hissing as his skin adjusted to the heat. Once he was sitting, he held his hands up to grab onto Gavin's and steady the poet as he joined him in the water.

The heat was divine and the smell was soothing for them both. The bubbles around them popped quietly, filling the room with a small crackling noise. Gavin positioned himself between Michael's legs and leaned back against his chest. Michael smiled down at him and grabbed the small wash cloth he had set on the side of the tub. He wet the cloth and drizzled Gavin's favourite shower gel across the soft fabric. As Gavin relaxed against him, Michael set to work, dragging the cloth along every inch of Gavin's warm skin.

Lost in the comfort, Gavin remembered the poem he had thought of in the grocery store earlier that day. He tapped Michael's thigh with two fingers to get his attention, and then he began to recite the words from memory.

“ _The boy is his protection,  
the poet insists.  
From the complex:  
his comet in the night sky,  
his lighthouse out at sea,  
his blanket in a storm.  
To the simple:  
his hands to hold,  
his heart to feel,  
his lungs to breathe.  
The necessity is in simplicity,  
the boy is his safety,  
until the poet can feel whole again._ _”_

If Michael could fall in love all over again, he would have. The way Gavin's voice was lilting with every syllable had him entranced. The words were beautiful and the meaning weighed heavily on his heart. It confirmed his earlier observation and the comparison of the poet with the broken mug: the cracks would always be there.

Stress made people do crazy things. Gavin's stress over his rapidly approaching deadline coupled with his anxiety and made him want to break down. He inhaled slowly, feeling the unmistakable stinging of tears in his eyes. Michael filled all of the holes in his chest and made him feel useful after years of being broken. The mere thought of him leaving brought Gavin to his knees. He was so dependent on the older boy and he cursed himself for it, but when Michael held him in his arms and made him feel alive again, he couldn't help himself.

Michael slowed his motions of running a cloth along Gavin's tan skin and wrapped an arm around his chest. He pulled the thinner boy closer to his chest and began pressing kisses to his skin, starting at his neck and working his way along down his shoulder. Gavin's eyes fluttered closed at the soothing action.

They remained wordless in the bathtub for another thirty minutes until Gavin started to poke at his wrinkled fingertips. Michael gently nudged him forward so he could stand. Once he stepped out of the tub and dried himself off, he reached for Gavin's hands to help him step out as well. Gavin leaned his weight on Michael and pressed his feet into the soft towel spread out on the floor. Michael dried him off with a white, fluffy bath towel while Gavin stood with his eyes closed, immersed in contentment. They both got dressed in their pajamas that Michael had graciously laid out for them, awkwardly bumping shoulders and exchanging shy smiles. Michael offered to clean up the bathroom and rinse the tub, and Gavin thanked him with a soft kiss pressed to his temple.

Gavin left the bathroom and entered the living room. In the silence, the noise of his damp feet sticking to the wooden floor echoed throughout the room. Through the darkness, he spotted his favourite place to sit in the entirety of their apartment. On his very first full day ever spent with Michael at home, he had noticed that one of the windowsills in the living room was extended outward, just big enough for one person to lie across. He had curled up in that spot on a sunny day, soaking in the heat. As he started spending more time at home, Michael decided to line the windowsill with cushions and pillows to make it more comfortable. They had spent countless nights cuddled up together in the window, going in and out of sleep until one of them decided to drag the other toward the bedroom.

Months later, the window seat was still Gavin's favourite spot to curl up. Still basking in the feeling of adoration Michael had provided, he lay down across the cushions and pulled a soft throw blanket over his torso. As he stared up at the moon, all thoughts of his upcoming deadline disappeared. The stars littered across the night sky made him feel tiny and insignificant. There was no point in getting too worked up over anything from all the way down here, he reasoned with himself. He was far too relaxed to care about much at all.

He felt like there was a soft layer of cotton muffling his brain. He hummed at the feeling of being able to de-stress and shut his brain off, even if it was only temporary. In his contentedness, his eyes slipped closed and before he even realized he had been tired, he was asleep.

  


In the bathroom, Michael finally finished rinsing the tub and cleaning up the excessive amount of towels. He left the room and pulled his phone from his pocket, checking the time. _10:47 PM_ , his phone informed him. He sharply sucked in air. It was much later than he thought. He strolled into the living room, still looking down at his phone. He dismissed a few email notifications and smiled at a text message from a friend. He stood in the middle of the living room to type out a response, but as he glanced up from his phone, he forgot about the text message entirely.

In the glow of the moonlight, he noticed that Gavin was lying in their homemade window seat. Michael smiled softly at the sight, tracing his eyes along the poet's curled up silhouetted form, illuminated beautifully against the black of night outside. If Michael were to write poetry himself, he thought, he would fill pages and pages with the memory of this moment. His vocabulary wasn't nearly as impressive as Gavin's, so he knew he wouldn't truly be capable of doing it justice.

He felt successful for relaxing the boy enough to put him to sleep. Michael took pride in his ability to soothe Gavin's nerves, especially after the last few particularly busy weeks. Seeing him calm and breathing evenly under the light of the moon felt like a personal victory. If he hadn't been so captivated by the adorable sight, he would have begun to dance in celebration.

Michael tiptoed toward the window seat, smiling down at Gavin's sleeping form. He slid one arm under the boy's knees and the other behind his back. Gently, without any jarring movements, he carefully lifted Gavin off of the cushions. Step by step, he proceeded slowly in the direction of their bedroom. Gavin squirmed slightly in his arms but remained asleep, and Michael breathed a sigh of relief. He felt strongly like a mother carrying her baby.

He entered the bedroom and stepped toward the bed. He placed Gavin gently down on the messy, unmade sheets and pulled the soft comforter around his shoulders. He stepped around the bed and crawled under the sheets on his own side. Facing Gavin, he wrapped an arm around the smaller boy's torso and tugged him in closer. He fell asleep with the lingering scent of vanilla and lavender candles filling his nose.

  


A few weeks from that night, on a Saturday morning, Michael woke up to a figure standing above him. He jumped slightly but relaxed again when he heard Gavin's signature giggling. Gavin had been much more calm over the last week or two, since he had perfectly met his deadline for his poems to be submitted. Michael's worries had diminished as Gavin was simply playing the waiting game until he was able to get his first published copy of his own book. The matter was out of his hands now and Michael was endlessly appreciative of the fact that Gavin's stress levels had decreased. His anxiety and nervousness had been knocked down a few notches as well. For the past few weeks, the poet still wrote frequently and Michael hardly ever saw him sitting without a pen in his hand, but fortunately Gavin was no longer stressed beyond his limits.

On this Saturday, Michael was surprised to see him up so early.

“You're up pretty early for a lazy weekend morning,” he croaked through the thick feeling of sleepiness in his throat.

“I have my reasons,” Gavin replied in a sing-song voice.

Michael became intrigued. Gavin, standing by his side of their bed, was smiling brightly like the sun personified. Michael's sleep-ridden brain decided to voice this observation.

“You're the sun.”

“ _You're_ the- oh,” Gavin mumbled, “I didn't see that coming.”

Michael chuckled halfheartedly and rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands. He felt Gavin move to sit on the bed beside him and he scooted up into a sitting position, leaning back against the wall.

“Seriously though,” he started, “why _are_ you up so early?”

Gavin shrugged. “It's only 9:30.”

Michael blinked in shock. “9:30? Are you crazy?”

“Only for you, love.” A smug grin spread across Gavin's face. Michael rolled his eyes.

They sat in silence for a moment until Gavin started to vibrate, looking like he was about to burst at the seams.

“Gavin?” Michael slowly asked, “Are you alright?”

Gavin squeaked and pulled a small object from behind his back. He thrust it forward into Michael's hands. Michael's fingers wrapped around the object, which he quickly determined was a thin book. He grinned wildly, staring up at Gavin in awe.

“Are you serious? It's done already?”

“It's done! They contacted me this morning. That, Michael Jones, is the very first printed copy of my poetry book.”

Michael was in awe. The book was beautiful, with a simple yet elegant leather-inspired cover. The thin book felt light in his hands, but the knowledge of what the pages contained made it feel much heavier. All of Gavin's hard work and talent filled the inside and Michael couldn't wait to read it.

“That's not all, though.” Gavin was shaking again.

“What else?”

Gavin nudged closer to him. “Open it up.”

Michael was about to pull open the book, but the title caught his eye. Written in gold cursive in the bottom right corner was the word “Panacea”.

“Panacea?” he inquired.

“It's- uh, it's a solution for all problems, basically. In medicine, it's a cure-all. In Greek mythology, Panacea was a goddess of remedy.” Gavin blushed, running his hands through his hair. “In- uh, in my life, it's you.”

Michael laughed.

“What, too gay?” Gavin chuckled along with him.

“No, no, it's perfect.”

They smiled at each other for a moment until Gavin couldn't simply wait any longer.

“Open it!” he urged.

Michael rolled his eyes once again at his insistence. He pulled back the cover and thumbed past the first page that simply detailed the publication and copyright information. He passed the next page, which just contained the title written again in the same font. On the third page, he froze.

Centered in the middle of cream-coloured paper were two words: _To Michael._

**Author's Note:**

> i wanna give a huge thank you to everyone who has interacted with me over the last week or two regarding this AU. <3
> 
> also, thanks to gavin free for providing me with the inspiration for the whole ["looking up at the stars" scene](http://jacktapillo.tumblr.com/post/110784697647/gavin-free-being-lovely).
> 
> as always, my tumblr is [here](http://jacktapillo.tumblr.com/). please come chat with me about this AU or about literally anything ever -- especially poetry.


End file.
